


Mercies in Heaven and Other Things for Which We Wish

by Caesara



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caesara/pseuds/Caesara
Summary: Anne did not anticipate the negative reactions to her mentioning Mr. Hammond and his belt and his mouse at school. Marilla did not anticipate that Anne would have such trouble relating to the other girls. Now, she wonders what else she has misjudged about the girl and her past. Or the fic in which Marilla asks Anne about her past homes.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	Mercies in Heaven and Other Things for Which We Wish

“Burns me up. A girl of her tender age—she oughtn’t to know such things.” –Matthew Cuthbert

***

Marilla steadied her hand on the candle, as she held her nightgown and made her way up the creaking stairs with heavy feet. The shadows on the walls twisted in and out of forms, slipped into darkness and re-emerged with the light of the fire that dragged in the small wind of her gait.

Matthew was no doubt smoking in his chair, listening for her to make her nightly trek to say goodnight to Anne. Anne had not eaten dinner and had barely said a word since barreling into the house in tears, declaring that she would never go back to school again.

“God give me strength,” Marilla muttered to herself, as she took a few steadying breaths at the top of the stairs. The door to Anne’s room was cracked, and she could hear, more than see the girl tossing herself in the bed, no doubt still trying to shake from her body the events of the last few days. The girl had endured much at the hands of the other children during her first days at school. Marilla knew the child was strange but had perhaps overestimated Anne’s ability to relate to the other children. Now, she wondered what else she had misjudged about the child and her past.

Marilla stepped into Anne’s room and found the girl twisted under her quilt, braids loose and ragged.

“Did you say your prayers?” The woman asked to the girl’s back.

Anne sniffed, “Yes, even though, I am in a deep sorrow and God will likely want me to talk to him at another time when I have more hope in him.”

Marilla looked to the ceiling briefly, before placing her candle on the bedside table. She stepped closer.

“I wanted to—” Marilla cleared her throat, suddenly feeling as it were too dry, too tight. “I wanted to ask you about, well, about what you told the other girls in school.”

Anne looked over her shoulder to see Marilla, half cast in shadow, grasping her hands together in front of her. A few strands of the woman’s hair were loose from the single braid she had draped over her shoulder, and they framed her face in an unfamiliar way.

“You did?”

“I did,” Marilla said. Then, as if she were afraid to spook the child, she sat, gingerly on the side of her bed.

“What—what did you want to know?” Anne, asked. She rolled, turning her back on Marilla. “Was it about what I said about Mr. Hammond? Because I know now upon further reflection, that young girls who are not orphans startle easily and do not have the constitution for such tales. I will endeavor to speak more like them in the future. I will talk about boys and where to sit for lunch and what games to play at recess. I can do it. I have been practicing. Not that it will matter, because I will not be going back. But, just in case I see them at a picnic or at a holiday festival, I will be prepared. I will not make that mistake again Marilla. You have my word. That is one thing about me. I do try to keep my word, even when it is difficult.”

When Anne stopped to take a breath, Marilla cut in, “What I wanted to ask you, Anne was—was more about your experiences with the Hammonds and with others that you may have lived with. It seems as if—as if you were not treated well while you were in their care.”

“I would not call it care, Marilla.” Anne said, her voice cold. She held herself tighter.

“Yes, well while you were in their service, I suppose.” 

Marilla looked into the darkness of the room, searching for the words that had seemingly flung themselves out of her mind and through the cracked window into the night.

“What is it you want to know?” Anne asked.

“Well, I don’t know now, what about the belt that you mentioned? Was that commonplace?”

Anne was silent for a long moment, so long the woman wondered if she would answer.

“Yes,” came the soft reply. “Mr. Hammond was a violent drunk and he was a drunk, so he was almost always in a state.”

Marilla let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Anne shifted slightly in the bed. Marilla did not need to be facing her to know that Anne was crying, that she had furtively wiped at her eyes.

“That is unfortunate to hear, Anne. It is not the Christian way to treat a child like that.”

Anne did not reply to that, which made Marilla’s concern spike.

“Of course, neither Matthew nor I will ever do such a thing to you. It is unacceptable.”

Silence. Sniffing.

“And Anne, if someone were to treat you like that again, I would expect you to tell me at once. It may have been commonplace in your old homes, but I will not have it from now on. I would want you to tell me if someone were hurting you in such a way.”

Anne’s breath hitched, and she rolled over, finally facing the woman. Her face was wet with tears and snot. She wiped at it with her arm and after a moment reached her hand toward Marilla’s.

“Marilla, you are a deep comfort, more than I could have ever imaged,” she said and let loose a few deep sobs.

Unable to stop herself, Marilla brought her hand to the girl’s head, brushing back her red locks that spilled from her loose braids.

“There, there, child.”

Anne cried for a few more minutes, while Marilla crooned. When she quieted, Anne grasped Marilla’s hand harder than before, with both hands. They trembled slightly but the grip was strong. The candle cast enough light to show the frown on Marilla’s face deepen, and Anne looked directly into Marilla’s eyes and opened her mouth as if to speak. Her tongue moved slightly but she formed no words.

“What is it, child?”

Anne licked her lips. Casting her eyes downward, she said, “There was—there was a girl who was with me. She was, her name was Cordelia.” Anne sniffed. “Cordelia was my only friend in the whole world. And maybe she still is, since Diana cannot be my friend while the other girls hate me so. Cordelia was—she was—I think she was, too beautiful.”

Marilla gave her a questioning look.

“Yes, too, beautiful Marilla. She caught the attention of many boys.” She whispered, “And men.”

Marilla’s sudden breath inward sounded sharp in the still air.

Anne’s voice was low, so low Marilla felt as if she must stop breathing to hear.

“Cordelia was too beautiful and—and Mr. Hammond found her beautiful too. And sometimes, she told me, Mr. Hammond came to her at night. And he would—he said he was showing her how beautiful—” Anne sobbed, “Showing her how beautiful she was.”

Marilla looked to the ceiling to separate herself, even briefly from the anguish on Anne’s face.

“Mercy in heaven.”

“I’m not beautiful Marilla. I’m not. I’m not beautiful. I’m homely and skinny and—and so it’s impossible—I’m not, I couldn’t, he couldn’t—”

“Oh Anne,” Marilla said, drawing the girl into an embrace as she broke down once more.

“I could never be—I’m ugly just like Mrs. Lynde said, I couldn’t, I would never—”

Marilla shushed her, rocking her, as the child sobbed so hard, she seemed to barely breathe. Marilla, herself, felt as the air had been sucked from the room. Her eyes stung with a vengeance, and her heart thrummed in her ears and made her body throb.

My God, what the child had experienced. What had been done to her.

“Mercy in heaven,” the woman said, rocking Anne’s small, shaking frame.

She looked to the dark ceiling and shook her head. “Mercy, mercy.”


End file.
